Down the Sky at Midnight
by J-to-the-Essica
Summary: Dave and Emily and Christmas Traditions.


This was written for zamboni12 for the Secret Santa 2010 Exchange over on livejournal at the cmrossiprentiss community. The title is taken form The Weepies song "All That I Want". Disclaimer on my profile page.

Part One: Emily

The sky is gray and heavy with the promise of snow the morning of Christmas Eve. Emily shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes blearily, and pours herself a cup of coffee. She studiously ignores the smirk of the man standing at her counter thumbing through her paper, which of course just transforms his smirk into a grin.

"Nice bed-head, Prentiss."

"Shut up." Not the most witty response, but her body's still processing the pain-killers she'd taken the night before and she's a little muddled.

Before she can ask, Dave Rossi reaches up into the cabinet above her head and retrieves the box of Splenda, setting it down with a little more flourish than is necessary.

"Should I ask how you know where I keep my sweetener, or would it creep me out?"

"Let's just say I did a little reconnaissance." Emily's not really sure how she feels about that and she thinks maybe it shows on her face because Dave says, "Easy, Emily. I just wanted to make you breakfast. Tell me, do you live on take-out and sugar substitutes? The only thing you have in your fridge is an open can of Red Bull and moldy cheese."

She laughs then, and instantly regrets it as her ribs ache in protest. "Shit," she winces.

Dave's hand on her back is warm, and gone almost before she registers its presence. "You ok?"

"I've been better," she admits, which is an understatement of course, but Rossi is too much of a gentleman to call her on it.

"Vicodin time?"

"Can't."

Dave furrows his brow and sighs like he knows he's not going to like her answer before asking, "Why not?"

"It's Christmas Eve, Dave, and I have a lot to do. I take any more happy pills and I'm going to be down for the count."

She's not looking forward to the shower, or the drive, or moving really, because she's sore in places she hadn't even known existed, but there are people depending on her and broken bones or not, she's not going to let them down.

"If you have anything more strenuous than curling up on the sofa planned, you're going to have to cancel. You've got three broken ribs, a dislocated collarbone, eighteen stitches and some scary-looking bruises, Emily."

"You forgot to mention the lovely airbag burn and matching black-eyes," she points out sarcastically. She then remembers that he'd been the only one to pick up the phone when she'd called from the emergency room last night after her run in with the ancient maple tree, thanks to a suicidal deer and black ice, and softens. "I appreciate the concern, Dave, but I'm sore, not completely debilitated."

His eyes darken and she tries to ignore the slight tug of desire in her belly. She'd been halfway in love with him before they'd even met and though their friendship isn't new or tenuous anymore, she's still not entirely sure she can trust him. Not in that way. She's pretty sure she'd screw it up anyway.

He doesn't speak, just continues to pin her with an unreadable, albeit intense, gaze. She clears her throat and turns to walk into her living room. "Anyway, aren't you supposed to be on your way to Little Creek? I bet you could beat the snow if you left now." Emily notices the blanket and pillow folded neatly on her couch, which she'd somehow missed on her way downstairs. "Did you sleep here last night?" she asks incredulously.

Dave walks past her to the huge picture window and trains his eyes on the Washington Monument. "I was worried about you," he admits quietly. "I didn't know if you'd need anything in the middle of the night."

The air between them becomes heavy and constricting, and _Jesus_, Emily thinks, _I really suck at this_. She's suddenly clumsy as she sets her coffee down, ignoring the slosh of liquid over the rim as she says, "Thanks, Dave. I mean it, really. That was very sweet. But I assure you that I am perfectly fine." He doesn't acknowledge her words, doesn't even look at her, really, so she cups her elbows and heads towards the stairs. "I'm going to get dressed, so, um, drive safely and oh! Merry Christmas," she offers over her shoulder.

Her face is burning and she curses Rossi silently for turning her into a thirteen year old girl. She hasn't felt this off-balance in a long time, and as she navigates her way to her room, she remembers why she's given up on love: it's messy and complicated, and she's always been so awkward and uncertain. _Walk it off, Prentiss. He'll be gone in a few minutes._

Except he's not, because when she walks down the stairs after a slightly successful sponge bath and a painful wardrobe change, he's still standing at her window. _Well, fuck._

"Has it occurred to you," Dave says as her feet stop on the last step, "that your car is sitting in a scrap yard? How are you going to run your errands?"

So, ok, she had forgotten about her car, but she doesn't think he has any reason to sound so smug. She can't see his face, but she just knows he's got that look, the one she fucking hates because it makes her want to slap him and jump his bones at the same time.

"One, they're not "errands"," and yes, she uses her fingers for quotations, "two, there is such a thing as public transportation or cabs, Rossi."

He turns to face her then, and she was right, he is wearing that look. "One, if they're not errands, what are they? And two, no offense, but I don't think there's a cab driver in the city that would pick you up looking like that."

She honest-to-God sputters, and the bastard has the gall to laugh, but he must see past the fury in her eyes to the hurt because he sobers almost immediately. "I'm sorry, that was a cheap shot." He sounds like he actually means it, so she quickly (regretfully) shelves her plans to neuter him. At least for the time being, he doesn't apologize often, after all.

She nods in her most haughty manner, and picks her purse up from the armchair. "I'll walk you out."

Dave expels a forceful breath and closes the space between them with a few easy strides. "Emily Prentiss, you are the most stubborn woman I know! If you insist on leaving the house, then I insist on driving you. Just please tell me we're not going to the mall on Christmas Eve."

She fights the smile tugging at the corner of her lips because she's still a little pissed at him and says, "Thanks but no thanks. I have all kinds of Christmas-y things planned, and we both know that you don't do Christmas." _There, _she thinks, _that'll chase him away._

Only, it doesn't. "I'll make an exception this year."

"How magnanimous of you, Agent Rossi," she replies dryly.

"Seriously, Emily, let me help you."

She angles a suspicious look at him, but all she sees is sincerity and eagerness and something else she's not quite ready to identify. She mulls over his offer in the space of thirty seconds and thinks this'll be the first Christmas Eve she hasn't spent alone in a long time. "Fine, but no complaining or hovering."

"Done."

She waits until they are in Rossi's sleek BMW before biting her lip and asking, "Do I really look that bad, Dave?"

He looks positively stricken as he touches the sleeve of her blouse with a single fingertip. "I was being an ass, Em. I'm not going to lie and tell you no one will notice, but you're not exactly Bride of Frankenstein material, either."

_Gee, thanks._ "Well, that's good. I wouldn't want to scare the kids."

She can't be a hundred percent certain, but she's pretty sure he gulps. "Kids?"

"Oh, no, Rossi, it's too late to back out now. You've volunteered to participate in the Prentiss Family Christmas Eve tradition, and all it entails. I just hope you can handle it."

And then it's her turn to grin.

Part II: Dave

He'd been attracted to Emily pretty much from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but love had come later, much later and much softer. Lust had hit him with all the subtlety of a freight train, but love had crept in when he hadn't been paying attention, and now he's not even sure when it happened, only that he is completely and irrevocably crazy about the woman, and she has no idea.

He watches her from across the kitchen as she places her hand atop a much tinier one, guiding the star-shaped cookie cutter into the perfect position. There's a thick stripe of flour across her cheek, and her eyes are hooded with exhaustion, but he thinks she's perfect and beautiful and something inside him stirs just a little.

He feels a tug on his sleeve and looks down into the upturned face of an adorable four or five year old girl. She's blonde and bubbly and when she smiles at him she reminds him just a little of Garcia. She crooks her finger at him until he crouches down.

"Mr. Dave, are you going to read to us tonight?"

He's thrown, of course, the way he'd been when Emily had directed him to the grocery store to pick up baking supplies, and then again when they'd arrived at a church to pick up toy donations. He'd been utterly gob-smacked, however, when they'd pulled up in front of a red-brick Catholic Children's Home on Alaska Avenue.

Emily had smiled at him sweetly then and told him of childhood Christmas Eves spent with her parents in orphanages across the world. There had been no cameras, no journalists to document the Ambassador's actions, no fake smiles or handshakes and Emily had admitted quietly that she thought it was the only non-political thing her mother had done in her life.

"Miss Emmy said you would," the little girl cuts into his thoughts. He looks up to find Emily smiling at him and his heart beats just a little faster.

"Well, if Miss Emmy said so, then it's guaranteed! She's the boss, you know." The little girl giggles and skips away, and Dave tries to stand with as much dignity as possible, given that his knees are protesting quite loudly.

Hours later, after the kids are filled with sugar, and stories of reindeer and put to bed, Emily places the last present under the tree. She steps back to admire their handiwork and sighs. "I guess it's time to go."

Her expression is a little wistful as he helps her with her coat, but she smiles when she hugs Sister Camille, and doesn't shake off his hand at her back as they walk to his car. A light dusting of snow covers the ground, but the sky is surprisingly clear. _So much for a white Christmas_, he thinks, _this'll be gone by morning_.

"You're a good man, David Rossi," Emily says, stopping suddenly and turning to face him. Her eyes are bright and shiny, _liquid doe eyes_ he thinks inanely as she leans forward to kiss his cheek.

"Me? All I did was play cops and robbers with them and read bed-time stories. You? You were amazing. How often do you come?"

She blushes and he doesn't think he's ever seen her look more beautiful. "I um, I don't, what do you mean?"

"Come on, Emily. I may be an asshole, but I'm not an idiot. When we walked into that room, fifty faces lit up. They know you…they love you. I had a six-year old tell me to back off because you were his girlfriend, for crying out loud."

She smiles fondly. "Jarrell. He's a handful, but really very sweet." She pauses and picks at her nails. "I don't come as often as I'd like. I mostly just help with homework and art projects."

He thinks it's incredibly sad that she doesn't know just how special she is so he does the only thing that seems fitting: he gently presses his lips against hers, gathering her close, mindful of her injuries. Pretty soon, she's kissing him back with teeth and tongue, and God, if he'd known she'd felt this way, he would've grabbed her and kissed her a long time ago. He pulls away first, framing her face with his hands and resting their foreheads together.

"I'm going to take you home now, Emily, and you're going to sleep and recuperate for the next week. If you're good, I may let you downstairs in the morning to open gifts."

She snorts. "You can't keep me in bed, Dave."

He laughs. "You wanna bet?" He guides her mouth back to his, and it's a very long time before anyone speaks again.

~Fin~


End file.
